How Rose Put The Doctor In His Place Next to Her
by droidgirl
Summary: Never leave a man to do a woman's job.


**How Rose Put The Doctor In His Place**

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Author's note: I got sick of fanfiction where Rose is this slightly naïve girl who falls apart too easily without her Doctor. I also got slightly sick of The Doctor trying to make decisions for her in the show. And I notice in a lot of fiction, he pines a bit, but does lots of nothing to try and get her back; or even trying to make the best of their relationship. Not all fic mind you, but plenty.

In short, Rose had a life, before he showed up, even if it was 'boring'. She's quite the person.

* * *

Right after her mother told her about how her father died, and what a wonderful man he had been, Rose Tyler watched her Mother let Carl in from her hiding place under the table cloth draped over the kitchen table.

As usual, Carl smelt funny, the way Jackie herself sometimes did. He tried to place a drunken kiss on Jackie, but missed. The two of them giggled like school children as they pawed at each other, and then proceeded to knock themselves out with the bottles of drink that Jackie kept in the upper shelves where Rose couldn't reach.

Of course, after about an hour or two, the shouts came. Carl yelled and got red in the face, like always. He jumped up and shook his fist, breaking things and slamming into the wall, causing cracks in the cheap plaster. By the following day, Jackie would have taped yet another tacky poster over the marred surfaces, and no one would guess. Or at least, they'd pretend not to know. For now, she'd start screaming, and then she'd cry.

All this time, Rose was sitting under the kitchen table, hiding in plain sight. She wasn't afraid; familiarity bred contempt after all.

* * *

When Jackie finally cried herself to sleep on the couch, a fag dangling out of her slack mouth, Rose stole out from her spot and fished the packet of smokes from her mother's pockets. She'd run out the door and throw them in the garbage can; the smell made her sick.

* * *

When she was twelve or so, she didn't bother throwing them out. Instead, she kept them in her jacket and smoked them on the front porch through the night, not sleeping. She'd stare at the stars, and wonder when she had become too old to believe in fairy tales. No one was coming to rescue her. No handsome man, and certainly not royalty.

* * *

At school, she was always alone. No one wanted to hang out with the girl wearing too-big, too-frayed jeans, with sweaters that obviously came out of the bins in the charity store. The clothes smelt like mildew, and therefore, Rose smelt like mildew all the time. When other girls were giggling over who had snogged whom, Rose sat alone in the cafeteria, wondering if anyone would ever snog her.

Someone did of course. Someone did more than snog her. He saw what could be under that old sweater, and understood her loneliness. Someone saw it far too well, and used it against her.

Most expensive lesson she's ever had to learn, to be quite honest; but she still prides herself on learning it.

* * *

She kept her head down. Made an honest living because her mother, quite obviously, found it beyond her silly capabilities to do any such thing. She watched as her Mother found man after man, replaying the kitchen scene over and over every time. Then she'd look at Mickey and think that maybe she could marry him. They wouldn't be deliriously happy, no. But they wouldn't be miserable.

And then her fairy tale came through.

* * *

For a while anyway.

* * *

Sometimes, she had a good mind to scream at him, and inform him that he had no right making decisions for her, just because he was over nine hundred years old, and she was nineteen. Simple protective gestures only served to prove that he thought of who she was, as quite simply, nothing. As if she's never had her own lessons, her own pain and her own loss. As if his was the only that mattered.

But what was the point? Men, when they had their minds set, seldom changed it. She had seen enough of their nature to understand that human or not, the Doctor was often just another male who made it his prerogative to believe he knew what was best for her.

So she tried to show him where her choices lay. And to show him he didn't really have a say in the matter; that she knew where her heart and destiny was – with him that is.

Fate, of course, bitch that she is, would interfere with that plan, wrenching her away cruelly.

* * *

As she worked hard into the night to find the road back to her Doctor, she wondered if he was working just as hard on the other side. She had a feeling he wasn't. Probably too wrapped up feeling miserable about the whole thing to try, if she could tell from their farewell.

She snorted at the memory, even if her heart broke inside knowing that life had broken him more than either of them would like to admit. It wasn't his fault, not really, that he wouldn't try harder. Life had taken too much for him to assume it would give anything back.

Fine, let him play the tragic hero; she supposed he sort of deserved to wallow a bit. She'll get_ her_ hands dirty, see if she doesn't.

* * *

"So while I was trying to get back to you, you were off kissing…how many women was it?" she asked, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips.

They hadn't even embraced yet. He had stuttered a shocked hello upon seeing her, and sat right back down in his chair.

"How did you...I mean…How??" he asked, face ashen like he was seeing a ghost. She supposed to him, he really was.

"How do I know about the women? Or how did I get back?" she snapped striding towards him so she stood right before him.

"Well," he considered. "The women actually. If there was anyone who could find a way to cross universes easily, it'd be you."

"Well that's sweet. Except it wasn't easy. And I notice you're not denying the bit about the women. That was just a wild guess on my part." She said snidely.

"Well first of all, the time I snogged Martha, I was making a genetic transfer which worked _very _well thank you. The second time, I was human and didn't even know who I was. To be fair, I dreamt of you. A lot. A lot a lot. Like, huge amounts of a lot. Even sketched you, and I wasn't even supposed to have remembered you!" He said defensively. His eyes darted around in a slightly guilty fashion.

"Doctor? Are you going to tell me you love me or do I have to thump you for not spending any time looking for me?" Rose demanded.

"Weeeell…" he shifted uncomfortably. "You want me to say it now?"

She looked at him.

"I mean you know…_you know already_! But the fact still remains I'm alien, you're human, I'll outlive you, if everything goes well and…"

Rose rolled her eyes. Did she have to do everything?

Apparently, yes, she really did.

So she grabbed his tie, yanked him forward and kissed him. Hard.

"Ok," he whispered after a while. "Yes, I love you."

"Good. And there'll be no more snogging other women," she murmured.

"Ok."

"And no more of this thing where you act as if I'm an idiot who can't defend herself or make her own decisions." She warned.

"But you're a nineteen year old human and…"

The Doctor took a look in her eyes and gulped.

"Ok fine." He said and kissed her again.

* * *

And that was how Rose Tyler put The Doctor in his place – right next to her.


End file.
